


The Kippies

by Bolt_DMC



Series: The Bolt Chronicles [22]
Category: Bolt (2008)
Genre: Angst, Daydreaming, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies, Mixed-species children, Movie Reference, Music, Post-Canon, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-05 17:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21212177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt_DMC/pseuds/Bolt_DMC
Summary: Can it really be true -- did Bolt and Mittens achieve the impossible and have babies? Primary cultural references include Igor Stravinsky's "A Soldier's Tale," the film "Shrek," the song "True Love Ways" by Buddy Holly, and selections from the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album "Déjà Vu."





	The Kippies

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: November 2012.
> 
> For Stahi.

1.

Mittens gazed at the clutch of youngsters surrounding her and reflected. "Puttins? Or kippies maybe? What would one call them?" There was no denying that they looked… well… strange. She thought they were in fact almost as bizarre as the donkey/dragon hybrids from "Shrek." They sported cat-like muzzles and long, lithe feline tails, but their big paws, large black noses, and huge, erect ears had "canine" written all over them. When agitated, they barked, and when content, they purred. Truth be told, the tiny kits were a living embodiment of the phrase "a face only a mother could love." To Mittens, though, they were beautiful because they were her babies.

Would these little ones be amused by squeaky toys or yarn balls? Would they use a litter box or do their business outdoors? Would they chase squirrels, or would their hunting predilections be for mice? Would catnip provide them with a satisfying buzz or mean nothing to them? Mittens didn't know the answers to these questions, but she did know they were always hungry. She didn't mind the constant feedings, though -- it felt good to have the helpless creatures suckle at her teats. Knowing that they relied on her so heavily for nourishment made the cat feel needed, wanted, and purposeful.

The warm, bucolic tune "Our House," a track from the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album "Déjà Vu," flowed through the cat’s mind. She and Bolt had been able to produce the fullest manifestation of love, mixing their essences to create new life that would show the depth and breadth of their relationship to the world. The little brood was a celebration of their sturdy bond, the start of a line of beings that would carry their shared lineage forward, expressing their devotion to each other in a tangible way. Their love was unique and deserved to be perpetuated, like a Mozart symphony, or a Michelangelo sculpture, or a Dickens novel, or an El Greco painting. At least Mittens thought so, anyway.

Soon, she could teach their children about life, and there was so much they needed to learn! The world, wonderful as it is, contains its share of danger. Safety matters, and the street-smart Mittens knew many of its perils. Speeding cars, angry critters, poisonous food, predators who would think nothing of making snacks out of unwary kippies -- any of these could end their lives suddenly. Keeping alert to their surroundings without becoming paranoid was a must. After all, the longer you live, the more experiences you will have, and the joys that materialize down the road can, and will, agreeably surprise you. Five years ago, the cat would never have guessed that she’d end up hundreds of miles from where she was born, flourishing in a pastoral setting with a canine sweetheart. Life’s funny like that sometimes.

Much that the world has to offer is pleasant and enjoyable, though, and taking advantage of the bounty it holds is crucial to happiness. Art, culture, and knowledge engage the mind, civilize the emotions, and enrich the soul. She and the dog couldn’t imagine existence without music, movies, literature, and visual art to savor. There was in fact far more than a lifetime’s worth of such wonders to take in, and the sooner the youngsters got started, the better.

Part of maximizing your time on earth involves taking care of the body, making sure the physical engine stays in optimal condition. A nourishing, balanced diet -- not too much food, not too little -- serves as both sustaining fuel and sensory delight. For Mittens, there was nothing quite like a savory dish of tuna and a cool, clean bowlful of water. Remaining active keeps the body in top shape; Bolt’s conditioning runs and vigorous go-fetch games with Penny had seemingly kept the dog as young as when he was a budding TV star. Staying free of parasites and maintaining sleek coats would remove a common source of animal irritation, make them feel good about themselves, and help attract mates and companions; a daily tongue bath always did wonders for Mittens, at least. Sleep plays a major role here, too, as the dog and cat were well aware when snuggled up next to each other on Penny’s bed. Bodies and minds need recharging after an active day, and lengthy periods of rest would let them encounter tomorrow fresh and ready to enjoy new things.

The cat knew well that social interactions are especially important to an ideal existence. Opportunities to make friends and entice lovers in fact afford the best pleasures of all. Treating others the way you would want to be treated only heightens this, and furthermore shows respect and goodwill. Heck, it’s just good sense and good karma. Still, knowing how to most effectively give and receive love and friendship isn’t fully instinctual; there’s an art to sensing others and being receptive to affection and kindness. Mittens had learned all this capably over time, and even Bolt, who was less accomplished in the matter, did his best. They would be able to transmit these abilities to the kippies with ease.

Living should be a joy, and anything that would maximize their experience was critical. She and Bolt would be the perfect role models for their youngsters, and it would be the highest privilege to pass along these crucial skills in part by setting the best example possible. Mittens’s mom had lavished advice on her when she was a little kitten, and the tuxedo cat was now eager to pay the favor forward to a new generation. Her philosophies, her way of thinking, and her approaches to life all had merit, and she felt confident that her method of doing things would give the little ones their best chance at success and happiness. The earworm in the cat’s head shifted to another song from "Déjà Vu," the country-tinged "Teach Your Children."

In short, this was the fulfillment of a dream come true, the manifestation of a deep and fervent wish, and the embodiment of Mittens’s fondest, most ardent desires. It was unusual, but deeply satisfying. It was something special. It was…

2.

…not real.

The cat was immersed full-on into a powerful daydream, one she had conjured up several times during the last month or so. Mittens blinked and found herself looking through Penny’s bedroom window. She could see the big sunflower patch outside, now containing only dried-up stalks bereft of flowers and draped in brown, brittle leaves. The field of showy, yellow blooms would of course return in the spring, but that seemed an eternity away just now.

The music floating through her thoughts abruptly became somber, turning to yet a third selection from the CSNY disc -- the brooding, anguished singer-songwriter track "4+20." It tells the brief but wrenching tale of a lonely man upset by his lack of a sweetheart, seeing no end to his situation and gradually growing more and more despondent. Needless to say, this was not something Mittens wanted to think about right now. The cat hugged the multicolored quilt on Penny’s bed and sighed.

"What's wrong with me?" she thought. "My life is full of so many wonderful things -- a pair of loving owners, a warm and comfortable home, all the good food I can eat, and the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. Why do I have this aching emptiness in my heart just because I've never given birth to a family of kits? Why do I feel like I’m spiraling deeper and deeper into sadness? Isn't what I've got enough? Why do I want what I know I can't possibly have? Wags -- he’s -- he’s a dog, and there’s no way we can have kids together. That’s a one-way Yellow Cab to fuhgeddaboudit."

"Oh -- there you are, Mittens," said the selfsame pooch from behind her, almost as if her thoughts had summoned him. "I wondered where you'd headed off to. You've been kinda hard to find lately."

The cat turned and looked over her shoulder at her lover. He had had a worried expression on his face these days when they were together, and now was no exception.

"I'm not always good at sensing these kinds of things, but I could swear something's been troubling you," said the little shepherd in a tentative voice. "What's eating you, anyway?"

Mittens smiled wanly at the dog. He earnestly cared for her, no question, and his concern touched her heart -- she knew he’d do anything to try and make her happy. Love like that doesn't come around every day and is to be cherished. But she nevertheless felt uneasy. Discussing this with Bolt might upset him, and she wanted to spare his feelings.

The cat first tried cracking a joke. "I'm at the top of the food chain, Wags. Nothin's eating me, as far as I know. Well, maybe fleas -- but Penny’s mom’s got a dip for that." The dog’s anxious look remained unchanged, however. Clearly, her witticism had fallen as flat as a long-untuned piano.

"Eh -- it's nothing," Mittens finally responded, none too convincingly. "I really don’t want to talk about it. You probably wouldn’t understand anyway."

Bolt wasn’t deterred so simply, though. He hopped up onto the bed and scooped the cat into a spoon hug, wrapping his front legs around her chest. "Uh-uh," he said. "You're not getting off that easy. Hiding your feelings won't solve anything. I know, I know -- suppressing stuff seems so convenient, but it's just not a healthy thing to do. C’mon, out with it. Whatever this is, I can handle it. I love you no matter what, remember? And I mean that."

Mittens sighed and stared blankly at the wall, trying to figure out how best to begin. "Look, this is no reflection on you. You’re the best sweetheart a gal could ever hope to find, and I love you dearly. But you remember when Penny’s mom said, ‘I think our dog is tapping the cat’?"

Bolt nodded.

"Well," said Mittens, flipping out her right front leg, pad-up toward the shepherd. "She may as well have been talking about you tapping me on the head with your paw for all that’s gonna come of it."

"Hmm?" The pooch tilted his head and frowned in puzzlement.

The cat quickly corrected herself, waving her paw back and forth. "Okay, okay -- bad analogy. Let’s put it another way. You can shoot me all you want with that pistol of yours, but you’re never gonna hit my target ‘cause it’s designed for a different caliber."

The dog grumbled and twisted his head the other way.

"How’s this then?" offered Mittens with a heavy sigh. "You can pipe all the puppy batter you want into my oven, but we’re never gonna bake a cake."

"Mittens, stop," whined Bolt. He covered his eyes with his paws and groaned. "Urgh -- you’re making my head hurt. Are you trying to tell me that no matter how many times we have intercourse, we’ll never be able to produce children because we’re biologically incompatible species?"

The cat froze with jaw agape, pointing back at the dog mutely with her raised paw as if she were trying to think of a counter to what he’d just said. "Uh, yeah -- that," she admitted finally.

The little shepherd pulled Mittens back into his furry chest. "Eh, I knew that already. I can give you my devotion, my love, my heart, my soul, my everything. Not that, though. I'm really, really sorry that's the case, too. Wish I could, ‘cause I’m sure you’d have been a great mom." He pondered for a moment. "Though now that I think about it, you were never spayed, right?"

"Nope," the cat answered. "The stinkers got my claws, but not my ovaries."

"And you’ve had no shortage of… um… opportunities with male cats in the past, am I right?" the pooch continued. "Not a judgmental thing, just stating a fact."

Mittens nodded.

"Know what I think?" said the dog. "Sometimes, females just can't have children. There's something haywire in their insides, and as a result kids aren't an option. And I sorta have a feeling that might be what’s goin’ on with you."

"Luck of the draw, eh?" mewled the cat sadly.

"You're not the only one, either," Bolt sighed. "I never got Mary pregnant. You remember that beagle I was seeing before we got together? She told me she’d had litters of puppies before, but she never did with me. Dog only knows, we had more than our share of chances. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're not alone on this."

"True enough," she said. "Too bad, too -- you’re quite the biological specimen, and if you could have, I’ll bet you’d have produced some fine, strapping pups."

"Perhaps," the little shepherd replied. "But all in all, I've got a great life. It's kinda like the story in Igor Stravinsky's ‘A Soldier's Tale’, if you think about it. Remember, we listened to that several months ago?"

"Huh -- that’s right. How could I have forgotten already?" Mittens grinned. "I'm the one who introduced you to that piece in the first place, I’m pretty sure."

"Yeah," concurred Bolt. "And the moral of the tale was that you can't have everything. The soldier -- well, he had gotten the whole shebang: wealth, the love of his life, his magic violin, a big castle to live in, and the satisfaction of having cheated the devil. But he decided to leave on a trip to see his mother one more time, adding that to all his other blessings -- and he lost everything in the end." The dog cleared his throat, quoting the work’s libretto in a tone of voice as if he were its narrator. "’No one can have it all; it is forbidden’. You remember that part, right?"

The cat nodded and smiled sadly. "Got it. Thanks, sweetie -- that actually helped a lot."

Penny’s mom had been listening to music in the study, and the strains of one Buddy Holly tune after another were wafting upstairs. As "True Love Ways" mellifluously floated through the room, the dog and cat snuggled up tightly, remaining that way for some time afterwards.

Eventually, Mittens shook her head and smirked. "Sheesh -- look at me, Bolt. Who’da thunk it? I'm a card-carrying midlife crisis cliché. If I were a bank CEO, I’d have bought myself a shiny new red sports car and dumped you for a studly tomcat half my age."

"I guess so," chuckled the shepherd. "Funny thing about clichés, though -- they’re old and moldy, but they're usually true. Y’know, like ‘A stitch in time saves nine’?"

"Or, ‘There’s no use crying over spilled milk’," offered the cat.

"Uh-huh -- and, ‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’."

Mittens grinned impishly. "Not to mention, ‘When you’re down in the dumps, talk with your dog’."

The pooch fell silent for a minute, wrinkling his muzzle in perplexed thought. "Huh. Much as I can get behind the sentiment, I can't say I've ever heard that one before."

"Wags," said the cat, patting his paw. "Let's just call that a cliché in the making."


End file.
